![]() ![]() ![]() Thank you,” “A franchise of Subtle Art Club Houses? Frequented by a tribe of people with healthy boundaries.” As Manson talked, comments scrolled through the chat window: “I just had an ‘aha’ moment. He cited research by the likes of psychologist John Gottman. When a woman spoke of her grief over a stillborn child, Manson cautioned her against “applying a Band-Aid to a shotgun wound,” adding that “my content is optimized” for “high-quality problems” rather than the “life-defining pain” of this woman’s trauma. ![]() That’s hard it’s really, really hard,” he said. “The bad news is this is always gonna hurt. After a woman named Roxana talked of her guilt about her family, which didn’t accept some of the ways she had changed, Manson wasn’t unsympathetic, but neither was he sentimental or pandering. When asked, “What was the belief you struggled the most to change?” Manson was self-deprecating, talking about how he’d had “a lot of fucked-up beliefs around commitment and marriage” and how “it took most of my 20s to unwind that.” At times, he was a confident guru, speaking in aphorisms such as “Instinct is unconscious emotion.” As he chewed over his answers, his brow crunched and his eyes tilted toward the ceiling in thought. The focus of today’s lesson was “Changing Beliefs,” and for two hours, Manson fielded questions and responded with the research-based realism that had made him a kind of Tony Robbins for millennials. It was 11 in the morning here in Los Angeles on a Sunday in late May, but Mark Manson’s students had logged on from time zones around the world (Berlin, Capetown, the United Arab Emirates, Winnipeg, India) for the latest webinar from his Subtle Art School (“More life lived, fewer fucks given”), itself a brand extension of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, one of the top-ten-selling books of the past decade. He had a light beard and a short ponytail, and he was wearing can headphones and clutching a microphone as he sat in front of a glass wall looking out on a line of wind-rustled trees in his sunny backyard. The emperor of no fucks wore a maroon T-shirt over his mesomorphic frame. ![]()
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